Eye of Winter
by The King of Ravens
Summary: For over a thousand years, the Dragonlords have ruled Tarkir with an iron fist. Now, almost 1300 winters since the Khanfall, the seeds of rebellion, sown throughout the dragons' brutal reign, are sprouting. Kaldros and Jakhan, twins separated at birth and on opposite sides of the never-ending conflict between their clans, must choose their paths in the coming revolution.


Kaldros opened his eyes to a golden dawn, the light of the winter's sun streaming through the blinds of his room and bathing the cold air in a distant warmth. He wished that he could have said the sun had awoken him, but in truth he had barely slept through the night, anticipation that no mantra nor attempt at discipline could quell pumping through his veins.

"Kaldros? Are you awake?"

As if on cue, the soft lilt of his mother's voice reached his ears, the presence of the mana flowing through her just outside of his door, usually a soothing reassurance to the boy, sent his anxiety into ascension. It was the realisation that the day to come wasn't some fever dream conjured in the delirium of his sleep-deprived state, the carefully controlled resonance of her being a stark reminder this was all real.

He let out a groan, pressing his face into his pillow and almost wishing, despite how hard he had worked to achieve this next step in his martial and academic journey, that the day to come would return him to mundanity once again.

Kaldros wasn't surprised to hear his mum enter, gliding quietly to the side of his bed and gently resting a hand on his slender shoulder.

"You've hardly been asleep, have you? I could feel your excitement through the night," she chuckled, stroking a slow arc across his skin – the mana thrumming silently, ethereally beneath it rising to meet her own.

Kaldros and his mother had always possessed a special bond, an ability to intuit how the other was feeling through the ephemeral energies of their souls, though it often seemed one sided in her favour to the youngster.

He nodded, aware that alongside the pounding of his heart his mana would be spiking wildly in spite of his tightening grasp upon it.

"M'sorry, if I kept you awake," he mumbled, sitting up and gazing to the side of the woman. She shifted her hand to his face, cupping a pale cheek.

"Don't be. I wouldn't have expected anything else. You've got a long day ahead of you."

Cerelis quirked a grin at her son, blue eyes soft and encouraging, before pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. Kaldros let his mother have his way with him, ignoring the urge to wrap himself around her or to protest at her ministrations.

"We should probably get you some breakfast," she said, releasing the boy and standing. Kaldros nodded, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths as Cerelis left the room.

After a quick wash, Kaldros slung on his training attire, a lightweight white shirt trimmed with gold and elegant pauldrons of the same colour flowing over but still remaining tightly bound to his lithe figure. He took up his silkwhip, taking a moment to admire the silver lettering embroidered into the light blue.

He had crafted the weapon with help from his cousin for his fifteenth birthday, the draconic calligraphy inlaid onto the fabric regaling the tale of the Great Dragonlord pacifying the ancient leviathans of Pearl Lake through teaching them to embrace the sky and abandon the confines of the water.

Kaldros entered the modest kitchen to the scent of freshly toasted bread, his stomach's rumbling a wordless salute to the slices Cerelis had laid out for him. Thanking his mother with a respectful bow, Kaldros ate slowly despite his hunger, excitement and trepidation quenching his appetite.

There was a knock at the door, his mum answering before Kaldros could make a move, though both knew already who it would be.

"Meja, come in. Can I offer you any food?" Cerelis asked as she ushered the taller figure inside. Holding up a placating hand, the boy – although Kaldros supposed he wasn't really a _boy_ anymore – replied politely, "Thank you for the offer, Aunt Cerelis, but I ate before coming here."

Meja turned his gaze to the seated Kaldros, pulling out the adjacent chair and settling down beside the younger male. At twenty years of age, three winters older than Kaldros himself, Meja had added some bulk to his height in the last few months, formidable and almost intimidating if not for the warm smile cut across gentle features.

Kaldros grinned at the sight of his cousin, meeting his brown eyes and not bothering to bow his head and welcome Meja into his household.

"Big day ahead of you," Meja mentioned in an almost offhand, congenial tone – designed to reassure and counteract the content of the words, Kaldros knew, though it didn't much help quell the fluttering in his chest. "Are you feeling alright?"

Finishing his mouthful before replying, Cerelis cut in before her son, "I don't think he slept at all last night."

"Mum!" Kaldros protested, a hint of red dusting his cheeks. He didn't really want her to embarrass him in front of his cousin.

"What? It's true."

"There's no need to worry. I'll take care of you," the older bumped his shoulder against Kaldros's own, a feather-light touch.

"How will you take care of me? You'll be in the training class above mine," he questioned with a teasing lilt to the words.

And that was the meat of it, really. Kaldros was to ascend from the group of students he had trained alongside for two winters now, novitiate spellfists and apprentice scholars, to a higher order of martial spellweavers and academics consisting of those selected by the teachers believed to be more promising in their pursuit of understanding.

Meja himself had been initiated into the Gifted just after his nineteenth birthday alongside his sister Arethe, and was progressing through the tiers of learning at a rate befitting his expertise and curiosity.

"Yeah? We'll still be much closer than before," he reached out and carefully ruffled Kaldros's hair, obviously aware the younger had put effort into tidying it. "You're catching up to me too fast, little cousin. I'll have to try harder. Wouldn't do to have you in the same class as myself."

Meja let him go, the absence of the contact settling as a cold weight in his gut despite himself. The elder watched as his cousin finished off his meal, before asking: "Ready to go?"

Kaldros nodded, stepping to his mother's side and embracing in a warm hug on an impulse. She chuckled, holding her son close, the boy just taller than her by a couple of inches, murmuring, "Do yourself proud, Kaldros."  
"I will."

He wished the words had held more conviction than apprehension, though as usual they were a reflection of himself when talking to his mother.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Meja gave a short bow as his cousin re-joined his side, to which Cerelis laughed a reply, "Such a gentleman, Meja. You know you're welcome here any time."

.*.*.*.

The walk to the higher tiers of Dragon's Eye sanctuary was a cold one, the natural frigidity of the mountainside dwelling combining with the chill of an early winter. Though the sun beamed down at them from its lofty vantage point, its rays were diminished heavily, barely cutting through the cooling air.

Kaldros liked the cold. Although all students of the Ojutai affected by it were taught a trivially easy method of reducing its influence at a young age, the boy preferred to let it linger on his bones rather than expel it through a refocussing of his mana. With the cold came precision, and precision led to perfection, all deviancies and distractions frozen away.

The two strode through vibrant markets, an odd blend of sensory extravagance – the mouth-watering aroma of freshly cooked soups, fabrics of vivid colour sourced from Dirgur sanctuary arrayed next to baskets of fruit – and the customary austere modesty of the clan.

Kaldros's eyes were on the sky, as were many of the other market goers'. Above the pinnacle, where the boy had glimpsed the Great Teacher himself on rare and blessed occasion, swirled four Skywise. With rippling silver scales that gleamed in the winter sun and vast, feather-like pinions beating the cold air, the dragons danced and cavorted, twirling and diving in a stunning display of aerial martial artistry.

He noted many of the same patterns and stances he had been taught himself, yet elevated to a level of sublime grace he, as a human of scaleless flesh and wingless shoulder, could never achieve. There had been a tempest only three weeks ago, a spinning of the Great Wheel that had granted the world these members of the Great Teacher's brood. And yet even at such a tender age the Skywises' elegance was a beauty to behold.

Kaldros ignored the few stares his own presence elicited. With perfectly white hair and crimson eyes the shade of lifeblood newly spilled upon the snow, his appearance had often caused suspicion and attention. It was a bad omen, adults had whispered behind his back as his mother had taken him to the markets years ago – how could any such boy be able to live amongst the enlightened Ojutai?

Meja and his mum were the only two humans that weren't concerned by his stark colouration. Even his uncle, whom he and Meja trained with frequently, other cousin and grandfather gazed at him with little but distrust.

He had considered shaving his hair, emulating Meja and many others of those devoting themselves to physical and spiritual enlightenment, but knew that would have had little effect. Instead, he wore it and the apparent shame he and his mother should have felt, ample motivation for the pursuit of his ascension up the tiers of the sanctuary past his own innate desire for perfection.

Meja walked them at a brisk pace, which Kaldros knew was his doing, a result of lingering a little too long before getting ready. They exited the lower town near the base of the mountain, climbing to the higher levels of the sanctuary – the architecture of the buildings and balconies surrounding them reflecting the change from habitation and the needs of a population to vast temple complexes of study and practice.

With each tier, students of increasing age the higher they went clustering together before the day's lessons began, came the memories of years spent honing mind, magic and body, a walk the boy had undertaken for years. From down here, the pinnacle could not be seen, the youngsters and initiates unworthy of laying eyes upon the Great Teacher's own lessons.

Kaldros felt the anxiety he had successfully suppressed rising as they passed through the tier of learning he had, only two days prior, dutifully exercised within. He gulped and gave a small wave as Cloud-Orn, his closest friend of a few years, motioned enthusiastically in his direction to the others in their small circle.

The seventeen year old wished he could have spoken to the djinn, having not since the news of his advancement had been delivered during their days of rest. The proud grin the other boy was wearing at least confirmed Cloud-Orn was aware they would no longer be sharing lessons together, probably never again.

This tier was the uppermost any of those without exceptional talent or ability would reach, their formal studies in devotion to all of the Dragonlord's teachings finished. Increasing specification would occur when they were deemed worthy to progress, focusing on one particular skill in continuing their service to the clan.

But they would never pass this height. They would never be in the sight of the Skywise, never worthy of training with the dragons watching.

There was quite a walk between the two levels, greater by far than any partition previous to this. It was the same separation as that of the lower town and the true sanctuary in both distance, and from what Kaldros had heard, skill.

Kaldros halted at the threshold to the level of the Gifted, feeling his legs weaken beneath him on the final step. The pinnacle was in his vision now, although Ojutai was thankfully absent. The Great Teacher bearing witness to his hesitation, his weakness, would have disgraced him beyond repair.

Meja span around when he sensed his cousin had stopped, his eyes filling with a blend of fondness and encouragement as he beheld Kaldros's shaking form.

"You are meant for this, you know," he began, "The masters wouldn't have recommended you be initiated into the Gifted if they didn't think you had the potential."

"I know," rational thought escaped him, nerves and a needling whisper in the back of his mind that he was unready, that he was minutes away from embarrassment and rejection, turning logic to jelly, "But … I don't think … I'm, I'm too young … I'm not ready."

The breaths came sharp and fast, an uneven pattern of puffs in the freezing air. He shut his eyes, willing for the image of the pinnacle to disappear. It was unheard of for anyone to reject an invitation from the council of masters to ascend to the Gifted … but perhaps-

"It's okay to be nervous," Meja's hands, large and reassuring, clamped hold of his shoulders, the older having crossed the gap between them almost instantaneously. Kaldros was anchored, opening his eyes once again, "You just need to breathe, little cousin. I train with you all the time. Believe me when I tell you that you _are _ready."

"I know - I know, but-"

Meja wrapped his arms around him, stooping slightly so he could press Kaldros's head against his shoulder. Meja was almost always light with his touches, brief and gentle, imparting their intended message unintrusively, so to be pulled into a hug caught Kaldros somewhat off guard.

"Just breathe, and believe in yourself," the older squeezed tightly for a moment longer, until Kaldros's rapid respiring had calmed and he regained control. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to find me in the levels above – or Arethe, or Father. We're all here to help."

Kaldros made a face, to which Meja gave a sad chuckle, "I know. But honestly, they would."

He wasn't certain, not with how Arethe had avoided him as though he was the carrier of a loathsome Silumgar plague for as long as his memory stretched and his uncle led his training with nothing but merciless harshness and near refused to communicate unless it was relevant to his quest for martial purity.

Besides, abandoning his fellow Gifted initiates to seek aid from more advanced students (even if they were family) at a level he was not yet permitted to was a breach of tradition and would bring nothing but shame on him, would prove he was unready.

Despite Meja's attempts, Kaldros was patently aware the task lay upon him alone.

"I'm ready," he whispered, filling the words with as much determination as he could muster.

.*.*.*.

The twenty students, all thrumming with carefully controlled mana, sat cross-legged on the vast stone plaza, the balcony cut into the side of the mountain carved from the blue-red rock. As he gazed round his fellow Gifted, Kaldros noted with a mix of pride and fear that he was without a doubt the youngest there.

The second youngest human seemed around nineteen winters, and whilst the age of aven was notoriously difficult to estimate at a glance from the length of the shortest's tailfeathers Kaldros put her at approximately the same.

He had joined the seated group a few minutes prior, with most either locked in the meditative trance of the Sky's Wisdom or silently keeping to themselves. A few exchanged quiet words, unwilling to disturb their fellows, and Kaldros had taken his place soundlessly to some brief stares which had thankfully dissipated.

All bowed their heads respectfully at the approach of Master Umi, the djinn glancing impassively at the initiates as she gracefully glided across the stone underfoot. Her large sapphire eyes, calm and aloof, lingered on Kaldros and two other students.

"Leliyan, Kaldros, Shu-wen, I welcome you to the Gifted. Here, in the shadow of the Skywise, your true journey towards the enlightenment of the dragons begins."

Kaldros held down a smile, keeping his face neutral even as excitement jolted through his slender form.

_It wasn't unrestrained emotions that got you here. Remain calm._

"I shall be your primary instructor of forms and technique, with Master Oryan leading your intellectual studies – though unlike in your prior education, many masters will take a role in guiding you on your path.

"We shall begin the day as is customary: refinement of your stances within the Dance of the Skywise, then partnered sparring in a revolution. Like the spokes of the Great Wheel, you shall experience every aspect of one another's styles and learn from the insight into each form's emulation of the dragons."

Kaldros almost couldn't hold his anticipation as the initiates rose to their feet. Every form he learnt, every stance he had practised to perfection in the past, had always been in veneration and flawed imitation of the heavenly fluidity of the Skywise. And though in his imperfect human shell he could never achieve what Ojutai's brood had this was to be different.

Instead of learning an abridged, synoptic version of the Dance simplified for those without wings and scales and ancient, unfathomable wisdom, what he was to be taught here was the true Dance, to strive for a perfection he could never attain instead of perfecting the flawed.

Umi led them through the first iterations of the stances, far more complex than Kaldros had ever experienced in the lower tiers of learning. Verses of posture and innate patterns of mana woven throughout the winter air combined in a physical song of exertion and enlightenment.

Each student gave the others a wide bearing, silently imitating their mentor's display as magic flowed around them all. She gave no benefit of pause to the three new members of her class, expecting them to keep up with those who would have practiced these motions many times before now. For that, Kaldros was grateful – he had been chosen to ascend to the Gifted, and thus wanted his teacher to see he was worthy of that boon through testing his worth.

No concessions, no special treatment because he had only just joined the group or his youth. Either he was ready to follow in the wing beats of the Skywise, or he was not.

At Umi's cue, the mana of themselves and the world around them the aspirants had gathered into careful strands was directly bent to their will, subjected to the Dance instead of kept an enraptured observer.

Water cascaded upwards from the Djinn's outstretched limbs, bending back around and forming a two arcs of an untouching oval in horizontally front of her. Alongside his fellow tutees, Kaldros caught the filaments of energy surrounding him, bending them into a white-gold luminescence that he used to replicate his instructor's movements.

Already knowing what would be next, Kaldros had to restrain the temptation to rush ahead and complete the Eye of Ojutai before he had progressed through the exact sequence of forms to finish the symbol in the correct way.

This first stage, which he had been given the honour of watching Meja perform back when his cousin had been initiated himself and insisted that the older boy show him, removed some of the boundaries placed upon the Gifted by their mortal forms, allowing them to reach the next level of spiritual transcendence in order to begin attempting to master the martial ritual to come.

Once the forms beyond this initial barrier had been accessed and sufficient proficiency had been reached, the Eye could be called upon immediately and the more advanced stances that so few of the non-dragon Ojutai would ever experience utilised without lengthy preparation.

Umi twisted, assuming a single-footed stance and swiftly – though still somehow languidly – cast her arms down, completing the Eye with two more slender lines of suspended water, thrumming with unnatural clarity.

Kaldros did the same, his own Eye bathing him in its cold radiance. For the first time since the session began, he broke his gaze from the sensei, gazing into the iris of his light. He had formed the sigil of their Dragon Clan many times before, yet never with such artistry and such purity of intent honed by the preliminary motions of the Dance.

The boy knew, had he not been in the middle of a lesson, that he could have crossed his legs and stared into the Eye for hours, meditating on how best to attain a glimmer of the Skywise's own enlightenment. Meditation itself had never come easy to Kaldros, too many distractions baying for attention until he forced them out, yet now a focused state of tranquillity had settled over his bones.

It promised so much more than he had ever been capable before, unlocking doors he hadn't realised had been sealed in his mind. Glacial light cascaded over his limbs, illumination both in the physical sense and the spiritual, and Kaldros felt a weight that had been unknowable to him lift from his thin shoulders.

He ached to test what this new power meant, how he could apply it to his own dances and martial arrangements that he had laboured away at with what little free time he possessed.

Eager to see what would come next, Kaldros turned his eyes back to Umi, who herself was surveying the aspirants with an inscrutable gaze.

"That concludes our first exercise," he soft voice, energised by the powers she had been wielding, rang over the courtyard. Kaldros frowned, the frown deepening and his serene expression dissipating as the woman dismissed the Eye of Ojutai floating in front of her.

He was belatedly aware of the figures around him that he had stopped paying heed to the moment the training had begun following in her example.

_Why? Surely we should be continuing the Dance?_

As he gazed about him, he noticed slight discrepancies in the symbols that were being dissolved by his peers and his own – wider or more pronounced arcs, imbalances in mana (whatever varied shape it had taken from the aspirants' own unique souls) beyond that which was deliberately inherent in the structure.

The boy looked back to his own, knowing with a certainty that he wasn't sure how he could possess that this Eye was identical to the one their teacher had created – he had followed her motions precisely. He didn't understand how he had decided it was his place to judge his own performance perfect, only simply knew that it was.

Caught up in his analysis, Kaldros realised he was the last to remove the evidence of their foray into the Dance. Quickly erasing the Eye, Kaldros tried to push down the pang of disappointment its departure elicited, though it was easily replaced by a swell of embarrassment at feeling Umi's eyes on him.

Bowing his head in deference, cheeks blushing, Kaldros only returned his gaze to his newest teacher once he was certain she was no longer looking at just him.

"You are all progressing well," she told them, the genuine praise in her level tone catching Kaldros unawares. All of his previous mentors had kept their thoughts to themselves, only commenting on their students to correct mistakes or admonish flaws.

_Perhaps I was wrong. _Of course _I was wrong. How could have I expected to master the calling of the Eye in my first attempt? _Now that the exhilarating clarity that had serenely erupted within him had faded, Kaldros's utter certainty that he was ready to progress to the next stages of the Dance was countered by indecision.

_Idiot. Carrying on without as perfect an Eye as possible to guide you could be fatal. Stop rushing ahead._

"We will begin the next lesson, one which shall be learnt from one another."

Kaldros let the doubt be carried away by the tides of further anticipation as the teacher had them pair up and led the class to an elegant circular pattern carved into the patio. He listened intently as she explained the rules for the sparring: the goal to displace their opponent beyond the lines engraved into the geometry at their feet.

While she stressed that the purpose of the training was to learn from one another, Kaldros couldn't ignore the underlying message conveyed by the inherent aspect of competition – he had no doubt Umi would be observing them closely, and that only those who acquitted themselves favourably would remain in her mind as possible candidates for further ascension.

Despite the intrinsic disadvantage Kaldros and the two other newest students would face having only just joined the Gifted, the youth was determined to prove himself.

Pacing gently to the outer edge of the circle, footsteps incredibly light even with his body taught in excitement, Kaldros took the time to examine his first partner. The woman stared back at him, both eschewing the usual deferential respect Ojutai showed one another in favour of intently watching the other prepare.

Kaldros could sense the mana twirling around her limbs, the illusion that it was flowing freely dispelled by the repeated motif of three branching swirls – if he had to guess, he would estimate that the magic of the air and sky flowed through her mana. A _bo _staff was slung behind her back, and Kaldros imagined it surging with the strength of the winds in imitation of the wings beats of the Skywise.

Her eyes, brown like the autumnal senescence of the trees curling around the foot of the sanctuary, widened in surprise as she took him in. Kaldros recalled she had been one of those locked in intense meditation prior to their lesson's commencement, and thus likely hadn't spared him even a glance before now.

_Do you have a problem with my appearance?_ He met her gaze for a few moments more, blatantly edging on disrespectful as he didn't even try to conceal he was no longer assessing her capabilities. The shock was smoothed down into neutrality soon enough and his opponent continued on her preparatory motions, though it was sufficient to have irritated the boy somewhat. He thought that perhaps here, if anywhere, his white hair and red eyes wouldn't have been a catalyst for displeasure.

_Don't let it ruin your composure. Channel that annoyance, control it._

Kaldros uncoiled his silkwhip from its holster at the side of his waist, letting it drift around his feet in the soft breeze and wrapping his hand around its beginning. He let mana pour into it, internally smiling at the scripture lighting up in an intensely pale gold.

"Begin," intoned Umi from her position at the centre of the pattern.

Kaldros spun his weapon in a defensive arc, fabric lashing through the air. As expected, his opponent had begun the duel with a vault, launching herself at her opponent with contrails of empowered wind surrounding her staff.

She buffeted it aside with a mid-air kick, delaying her for a brief moment and allowing Kaldros himself to jump back from her staff strike that she pulled without wasting any force when she realised it would have missed.

Twisting his whip as he did so, Kaldros was unsurprised when his attempts to have it strike from behind was rebuffed by a twirling of the staff.

Kaldros smiled as he allowed his mana, tightly controlled after its exploration of a new form a few minutes previous, to rise to the fore once again, the dance of combat only differing from that of self-improvement in that there was more than one participant.

Bright luminescence, almost white yet tinged very subtly golden, rippled across his skin, and he launched an incandescent bolt at his opponent as she assumed a more protective stance.

It was brilliant, almost blindingly so, yet emitted no heat as it arced towards the older woman. Instead, it was freezing cold, leaving a contrail of ice as it passed. She raised a hand, a gale of force knocking the sphere off course, yet Kaldros had released such a crudely unrefined projectile only to test her defences.

His opponent span her weapon, striking the air and releasing alternative horizontal, diagonal and vertical waves of tempestuous gust at the boy as she performed a sequence of increasingly swift pirouettes, shaking the ground with their might as they passed.

Kaldros twisted mid-air, recalling the length of his silkwhip with a pulse of energy before backflipping back off of the ground the moment he touched the earth and hurling it at her through a gap in the waves. Caught off guard, having clearly expected him to fall back under the onslaught and perform evasive manoeuvres, she only just juddered out of the way of the silk's reach instead of battering it away with a wind-infused kick.

Pulsing mana to the edge of his weapon, the end of the whip flared with cold luminescence, anchoring it to the floor for a flash as Kaldros utilised the arrested momentum to drag on it and fling himself into the winds.

Curving his slender body in the first opening motions of a martial performance he had been taught by his uncle and Meja, Kaldros managed to just avoid the damaging effects of the first two galestrikes, the wind sending his hair and clothes flapping wildly.

For the third, he conjured light into being surrounding his left leg, taking an aerial step to further his acceleration with his right (mana fleetingly encapsulating the tread in the relatively advanced technique Kaldros had gone further than his former instructors had trained them in mastering) and bringing down a kick.

Glacial radiance and surging winds fought for dominance before Kaldros broke it apart with his light, the magic flowing to his fists as he landed less than a second after the galestrikes had been thrown at him.

He was met by an overhead swing of the _bo _staff, which he parried and slid to the side of instead of taking all of the considerable force behind the elegant strike on his posture. He lashed out with an incandescent kick, met by the staff once again and deflecting the blow away from the woman.

They met eyes for a short moment once again, roving gazes over the others' limbs interlocking in a chance encounter, his opponent's brimming with the same determination and focus he knew would be overflowing in his own.

The two danced, Kaldros pressing his advantage as much as he was able whilst avoiding the lashing parabolas and sudden thrusts of the woman's staff. She was bigger and stronger, physically, than he was, and almost matched his nimble speed with her own bursts of wind-fused velocity.

He coiled his whip, weaving an intricate pattern of remnant light as he struck it at her from as many positions he could manage, his weapon of choice lacking the sheer power of the staff but offerings its own invaluable utility in the reach and directionality.

The elder of the two correctly identified that he was still the main threat, focusing almost all of her attention upon the boy even as the cloth whip lashed at her in bursts of searing cold from unexpected angles.

Despite their proximity, neither had landed a proper strike on the other yet, all blows deflected or dodged. The woman's martial style, all spinning strikes and twirling kicks, was similar to his own concentric technique, thus an opening hadn't revealed itself to either.

Kaldros kept his eyes glued to his enemy, following her flowing attacks to perfection and deliberately paying little heed to the design he was etching with every lancing punch, whirling foot and taut blow of his silkwhip. To acknowledge it would be to show it to his opponent.

He pressed in after dodging a foot aimed for his head, grabbing and shoving the staff aside with one hand whilst aiming at the woman's abdomen with the other. The strike landed, his hasty aggression rewarding him with a hit, and he channelled incandescence into the blow.

As he had predicted, his partner was knocked backwards around an inch before she regained her footing, posture barely affected by the lapse and what appeared to be a poorly planned assault now giving her the room to brandish her staff to its fullest extent once again.

She wasted no time, whirling the wood above her head and summoning a vortex of displaced air around her that buffeted Kaldros and sent him almost flying back.

Kaldros could barely suppress a satisfied smile (emotions such as joy had no place on the battlefield) as he raised one hand, light encompassing his seemingly delicate fingers and bursting forth into the heavens. It split apart there, the singular ray becoming multiple beams that streamed into the small orbs of illumination left behind by each precise movement of his silkwhip in the close combat before.

Radiance surged between the orbs, freezing light blazing at each intersection line of the resplendent constellation, catching his sparring partner in a rare moment of indecision as the ice and brightness spread around her.

Having been pushed barely any distance back by Kaldros's deliberately ill-performed offensive, she hadn't bothered to return to her original position before resuming casting her sky magic. Now she found herself in the centre of a tessellated prison of flowing light and golden frost, one with its nexus directly below her.

To her credit, the other Gifted reacted after a split-second, slamming her staff into the ground and attempting to launch herself into the air through a renewal and refocusing of the diminished whirlwind, but by that time Kaldros was already upon her.

Preceding his closing leap with several empowered bolts of light that met with the pattern and extending the enclosure upwards before tightening its threads of overflowing white-gold, the adolescent dove at the trapped student with a punch of the fist tightened round his whip.

Hampered by the prison of light, his opponent was unable to react in time as it slammed into her chest. Kaldros splayed his fingers out as it did so, augmenting the momentum of the blow by pouring mana into a blast that sent the woman careening out of their segment of the plaza pattern.

Energised and exuberant, Kaldros forced himself to bow respectfully in his victory to his opponent as she got to her feet. She returned the gesture, walking back to their informal arena, any residual disappointment or shock at having been defeated melted back into careful, respectful impassivity.

In a less formal circumstance, Kaldros might have shared words with the young woman, but conversation didn't seem appropriate now that they had silently determined a victor between them.

He looked up to see Umi's enigmatic eyes boring into him once again. Kaldros internally assured himself that he was imagining the djinn's gaze lingering on himself more than any of the other aspirants, and that only because he was in the moment of triumph was she analysing him.

"Switch," she spoke softly, though her voice easily carried through the quiet din of intense combat. The students followed the order swiftly, duos embroiled in battle flowing apart like water parted and those on the outer circle stepping to the right to meet new opponents.

"You are Kaldros, correct?"

The addressed turned to the source of the melodious voice, meeting the vibrant yellow eyes of a brown-feathered aven, their plumage dappled with the ochre of youth.

Whilst the timbre of the djinni was deep as the monastery bells, filling their recipients with a sonorous resonance, that of the aven was musical and light, especially when punctuated by fluttering beats of their wings.

Kaldros had oft wondered, his principle peers (and friends) being only djinn and aven, how they found human voices, whether they attributed lyrical metaphor to them or merely considered them grating.

He nodded, eyeing the relaxed stance of his new foe warily.

"I am Ceryn. I often studied alongside your cousin; he spoke well of you," the other boy chirped, flashing his beak in a small, almost friendly, grin to Kaldros. Kaldros couldn't help but return with his own, cautious that Ceryn might merely have been attempting to disarm his focus with conversation. Affability belying cunning intent.

"Begin," came their sensei's command, counteracting what limited effort Kaldros was attributing towards considering a reply.

His smile fading, Kaldros prepared for another test of skill.

.*.*.*.

The rest of the day had, despite Kaldros's only partially diminished nerves, progressed rather quickly. Studying fascinating ancient texts penned hundreds of years ago under the watchful gaze of Master Oryan had been proceeded by meditation and further practice at summoning the Eye of Ojutai.

Kaldros's pale skin tingled with the expenditure of mana, although he still had plenty left in reserve and the meditation had gone someway towards replenishing that spent in the sparring.

He had fought Ceryn to a standstill, the older male a Graceblade like his mother, nimbly avoiding the boy's more obvious wielding of magic and slicing it apart with strikes of his conjured sword.

After that, he had been narrowly defeated by a man with a seeming mastery of concealment magic, blending into the patio with such expertise Kaldros had been unable to detect any motion at all before it had been time to strike. Still, despite the man's size and strength advantage and his pinpoint strikes at points of mana congregation Kaldros had held his own for a reasonable amount of time.

The defeat luckily wasn't left to sour as his final duel had ended in a victory, the golden-white of his frozen radiance too much for his last opponent, a pearl-shaper of obvious skill, to handle.

Cloud-Orn, affectionate and enthusiastic as ever, had dubbed him "Little Winter Sun" after their first ever sparring bout (despite the boy at the time only being an inch or so taller than he was, having yet to hit the djinni growth spurt that propelled them to greater heights than humans). The moniker had stuck, and Kaldros wasn't certain if he'd heard Orn speak his actual name in years.

Now the class was clustered in a semi-circle facing their two masters as they addressed them concerning their schedule for the next few days and what to focus their attention on as they returned to their homes for the evening.

Kaldros stood beside Ceryn, the older boy the only to have shown him any attempts at dialogue or warmth, his quills having taken on a golden complexion as the sun lowered in the sky. He hoped the young aven wasn't aware of the inadvertent attention he was showing his feathers or appearance in general.

It was easy to let the mind wander into distracting imagination when anyone (especially any boy) he hadn't known for years presented him with even remote kindness, so Kaldros employed some restraint and forced himself to examine nothing but his teachers.

While they spoke, Kaldros watched several two other figures made their way onto the courtyard from the direction of the few higher tiers. One, he recognised distantly as Grand Master Elsha, clad in robes of smooth white, the other very acutely as Master Kiba – or Uncle Kiba, if he was feeling particularly impertinent (not that he would ever call the man that out loud). The rest was an escort of ceremonial guardians equipped with gold-headed staves.

Murmuring to one another, their graceful progress came to rest behind the other masters, briefly drawing the eyes of some students – such senior figures in the temple were bound to - before respect reasserted itself and they focussed on their direct mentors.

Any internal conjecture that his uncle's patronage had secured him a place in the Gifted was rebuffed by the cold glance Kiba swept over all the proteges, not bothering to acknowledge Kaldros's presence with any form of familial fondness – in fact, Kaldros was pretty sure he had glared at him.

_Nothing noteworthy here then._

The Ojutai were a meritocracy, first and foremost, so relation to a particular high ranking elite of the clan meant only that expectations were greater. Besides, what mastery could be achieved by mortals paled in comparison to the simplest works of the exalted Skywise, thus whilst the paragons of intellect and might were respected they were never vaunted.

"Finally, one of our great lords and guides upon the path to enlightenment wishes to honour the Gifted with a short lesson," Umi smiled beneficently, moving to step to the side of Elsha. Kaldros wondered what the Grand Master was to impart, before his brow furrowed as the djinn made no effort towards speech.

He considered the words more closely, noticing the masters' heads all inclined upwards. His heart thudded in his chest as a vast presence blossomed into life upon the canvas of his spiritual sense moments before a shadow was cast over the students.

The gales conjured up by huge wingbeats effortlessly eclipsed the gentle breeze, the wind itself bowing in deference towards the creature overhead, fleeing ashamed from such a perfect being.

Kaldros followed the example of his fellow students and kneeled, pinning his eyes to the ground as a dragon landed in front of them. He caught a glimpse of overwhelming blue and white and gold glinting in the sun's dimming rays, uncoiling as it descended and settled into a space that was surely too small for any being of its significant size to land at the speed at which it had approached.

The dragon's proximity was almost intoxicating. Even with his face almost pressed to the patterned mosaics beneath him, Kaldros could still _feel _the overpowering physical mien of the scaled lord. And its mana – _oh its mana_ – was a wellspring of endless spiritual power, an eternal lake of ice stretching across the aeons and back round to itself ten times, the ten spokes of a vast wheel spinning throughout blizzard-swept heavens.

Mortals harnessed the strength of the world through the medium of their mana, a force gifted to many and in myriad forms, yet theirs was a borrowed strength. Born as they were from its tempest-songs, the dragons did not merely call upon the world's power – they simply _were _that power.

In a great clacking of mighty jaws, a gentle brush of wings and underlying murmur of a mountain-shaking avalanche held at bay through naught but sheer force of will, the dragon spoke.

"_I am Atqiya,"_ he hummed, the resonance of the pure draconic sending shivers down Kaldros's spine. He had studied it for years, countless hours spent poring over the perfect language of the Great Teacher, spoken it often himself, yet to hear it enunciated aloud to its full breadth of meaning as only a dragon could filled him with awe.

None in attendance would have found that name unknown. The Sovereign of Frozen Dawnswas one of the oldest of the Skywise, said to have been birthed less than a century after the Dragonlord had gifted enlightenment to the barbarians of ancient times prior to the formation of the clan.

Imperious and majestic, Atqiya had exuded a more regal aspect than even Ojutai himself (Kaldros hushed the near-heretical thought) the blessed glimpse he had caught of the two patiently drifting in a languid circle at the pinnacle of Dragon's Eye over a decade ago.

A more direct figure than the enigmatic Great Teacher in the control of the clan's territorial affairs, the Sovereign had decided many conflicts on the outskirts of Ojutai land, descending as a resplendent saviour to remove the less enlightened from his Dragonlord's dominion.

"_I will afford you this opportunity to bask in my wisdom, gifted mortals, as recognition of the steps taken upon the climb of Dragonlord's firmament,_" Atqiya's words exuded a superiority that, in a lesser being, may have been translated as arrogance. Kaldros was glowing with excitement, the dragon's voice drowning out the throbbing of his grateful heart.

"_Is it not true that the first signs of winter come only as the leaves shake the dewdrops free and begin to brown with futility? The tree shakes its once-emerald scales free, leaving it bare and exposed to the cold. And yet this is how the tree thrives through the winter's rime. As Gifted, you must shake free your weaknesses, your incorrections and imperfections, your mortal prides and joys. The Soul of Winter demands you discard those leaves which you hold most dear as they wither beneath the illumination we Skywise impart. Become bare, empty vessels for our grace. Only then will you survive. Only then will you thrive._"

The words, a mix of verbal and voiceless, wove authority and ageless insight round the prostrated students, thrumming with the perfect purpose laden within every draconic syllable.

The language itself was like a microcosm of the greater separation between mortal and dragon – the former could speak only a stunted version through their small lungs and limited bodies, whilst every part of a Skywise's being was devoted towards conveying their higher order of dialect.

"_You stand upon the roots to great enlightenment, brimming with the light of your talents. Yet your talents are nothing, you cling to light blinding only in its meaninglessness. You will come to forget that which brought you naught but pride, as the frigid wind forgets the mountains they once called home and sail across the spokes of the heavens_."

Kaldros eagerly took in the lesson, opening his mind as far as he could and purging it of unnecessary, unwanted, extraneous thoughts. He would become empty, as the Dragonlord desired. He would be the perfect disciple. He would-

_This isn't … anything new._

Shocked at the sudden notion, the boy banished the disrespect as soon as it surfaced, though it left a lasting indent as the words took hold. Kaldros frowned even as he strove to maintain a tempered, disciplined expression, the expanse of white he had carefully laid out as a canvas for the Sovereign to paint his teachings upon prematurely stained with unexpected doubt. He obviously wasn't listening close enough, evidently he wasn't grasping the deeper meaning of Atqiya's imparted wisdom.

The lesson was a glorious one, indeed, yet he couldn't help the inkling that he was deprived of its full magnificence without a visual connection to the Skywise.

_No, you're wrong. You can't do that. The sheer insolence …_

Despite his best efforts, the wayward, rebellious thought burrowed deep within his concentration, spreading malignant roots of distraction across his mind, coaxing him with promises of greater understanding.

The dragon's words, even as they enraptured every fibre of his grateful being, were relegated to the side-lines in lieu of this internal confrontation.

It was strictly forbidden, to gaze upon the Skywise when one was being addressed by their grace unless one was of a great enough rank to have earned the privilege. There was no set punishment for such a transgression – exile, death or branding with marks of shame and silencing were all possibilities.

Kaldros knew he shouldn't. He knew it was idiotic, needless. And yet, now that the temptation had sunk its claws deep, he couldn't resist. This might be his only opportunity to ever lay eyes upon a dragon's lesson so close.

The boy shifted his eyes around him, scanning the other aspirants for any sign of movement or distraction. They were all perfectly still, even the gentle wind barely disturbing them with its caress. Any notions that any were suffering as he was were swiftly dispelled.

_You cannot. It is unthinkable. Dishonourable. Listen to the voice. Pay attention. Keep your eyes to the ground._

The urge to move, to break the stillness, started to coalesce. Kaldros begged it to remain silent, only barely suppressing the trembling of his fingers in the effort to keep himself motionless.

It was his weakness, his fatal, loathsome failing – impulsiveness, rising out of the cage of calm in which he kept it locked away, a sudden desire to cause chaos in a life defined by order. He had battled with it for years, this constant, underlying compulsion to ruin his own focus, rush through his mantras and forms instead of perform them properly.

It had strengthened him, that conflict, allowing him to better himself by overcoming that flaw. By forcing harmony upon his mind and body, he had gained a greater control than those to which harmony came naturally.

It still arose, from time to time. But he had always been able to crush those wayward desires in their infancy. It didn't affect him anymore. It didn't – yet it had.

_Please, stay calm. Don't move. Don't move._

The influx of disorder joined with the want to gaze upon Atqiya's ancient, brilliant intellect as he gifted it to them, forming an unstoppable opposition.

_What will be the harm in just a peek? To satisfy myself that I'm not missing anything by having my vision denied, that the problem lies with me._

Kaldros was fatally aware that if he did nothing, he wouldn't be able to maintain control for much longer, all of the barriers he had struggled to erect over the years beginning to crumble. He would need to leave, reassert serenity, but that would be impossible not to notice. A tiny glance, however, a minute inclination of his head, might escape attention. Then, he could satisfy the baying emotions within in a single swoop, quell all of the turmoil simultaneously.

_One look. That's it._

He raised his head ever so slightly and looked up, sight entirely captured by gleaming sapphire and pearl.

Atqiya gazed back at him.

Kaldros saw barely a glimpse of fathomless wells of enlightenment rendered in slitted green orbs before he almost shoved his face into the ground again, breath catching in his throat.

The dragon had stopped speaking.

His heart pounded in his chest, filling the void of silence that had descended, so loud he was certain it was causing tremors all across the temple plaza.

He didn't dare breathe, as if by restricting every minute movement he was capable of he would somehow escape the Skywise's notice.

_No, no, no. He saw me. He _looked _back at me._

He heard Atqiya turning, scraping a single talon across the mosaiced stone of the patio. Swift footsteps, barely audible over the relentless drumbeat of his heart, cut across the row of kneeling aspirants, the closing spiritual presences mere forsaken embers barely perceptible above the blazing beacon of the dragon.

A hard, bruising grip encircled both of his upper arms, dragging him harshly forwards to a point directly in front of the Sovereign, his shadow blocking the evening sun's fading light. Kaldros's mind exploded with riotous panic, though his body remained deathly still, frozen in terror.

The hands pressed him down, forcing him into the prostrate position he had already retaken. The two holding him, guardians having accompanied the masters, were much stronger than he was. Kaldros couldn't have escaped even if he had been trying.

Terrified shaking he couldn't stop was the only movement his limbs permitted, breaths barely a tenth as long as they should have been stuttering as the enormity of what he had done settled in. All of the morn's anxiety had returned thousandfold, filling him with frightened numbness.

_Please, please, please. I haven't … done anything wrong …_

The pathetic, dribbling protestations filled him even though he was well aware of their falseness.

He could _feel _the ageless gaze of the Skywise piercing into his back, pinning him to the ground with the immeasurable intensity of timeless judgement channelled into a singular focus. The immensity of its presence was incomprehensible – witnessing the dragons' grace from a distance was a useless preparation to being so close as to be almost touching.

"_You dare to lay your mortal eyes upon me?_" the Sovereign of Frozen Dawns whispered, its plain disgust contorted with utter astonishment that Kaldros had done just that. The words were for him alone, carried on currents from Atqiya's snout to his ears only.

Kaldros, despite the horror and disgrace swelling in his breast, wanted to beg, to plead that he had done no such thing, to protest that he had only raised his eyes to fully absorb Atqiya's unadulterated glory.

No words left his mouth, it remaining clamped shut. At least, in some perverse way, the silence enforced by his fear meant that the little whimpers died in his throat before they could bring him further humiliation. At least he could die with that small dignity.

"My lord," a human voice, one he knew he recognised but couldn't quite place past the freezing white haze in his brain, spoke in draconic as perfect as a man could manage. Atqiya's attention remained upon the white-haired boy, though he must have signalled for whoever had interrupted to continue, as they did so with a small delay, "Far from it be my place to offer suggestion to a Skywise, I humbly recommend that this transgression be forgiven."

Kaldros heard a deep murmur from the dragon above, although the words were not meant for him so he could not make sense of them.

"Yes, my lord. The boy is foolish, and this impertinence will not go unpunished, but he has only today ascended to the ranks of the Gifted. Striking out his potential before it can be realised, while fitting for such a crime, would be a waste we can ill afford."

Atqiya's focus shifted minutely from him, a perceptible lessening of the condemning weight, and he hummed more inaudible words.

"Indeed, my lord. I will personally ensure this temerity will not occur again, I can assure your wisdom of that."

_Uncle Kiba? He's actually … defending me? There must be a mistake._

Kaldros, in his distress, only recognised the voice when it morphed to its usual severe and reprimanding tone. Had he been less terrified of making even a slight movement to invoke more disrespect and the dragon's displeasure, he would have bowed his head in desperate thanks towards the man, murmured grateful platitudes at the unexpected kindness.

The Sovereign paused for a moment of introspection, aloof mind most likely calculating whether or not Kaldros deserved to survive this folly. The boy did not dare to imply he could hope to understand the inner mechanisms of the dragon's intellect, so superior as they were to his own, but hoped with a shameful faith that he would be spared, his burning curiosity and longing for greater understanding not leading him to an early death.

With a dismissive snort, Atqiya's crushing disgust became an aching indifference. Kaldros felt the crushing burden of the dragon's gaze transform to glacial apathy, distant and uncaring. His frozen body broke into shivers of fear, all of the pent up anxiety and stress of the past minute overflowing unchallenged within him now.

The hands had left his shoulders, though he barely realised, all of his focus on Atqiya's imposing, magnificent aura. Even unworthy of attention as he was, only garnering it because he was pathetic and impulsive and weak, Kaldros's spirit craved to be the object of the dragon's concentration once again now that it was impossibly far away, though another part of him screamed with relief that the traumatic trial was over.

Another hand now encircled his wrist, pulling him harshly to his unsteady feet. Whilst the other hands had been firm, strong and utterly dominating in their forcing of his movement, this one was equally as bruising but much less controlling. He stumbled as Kiba roughly yanked him to follow, before righting himself as the man let go.

Flushing with shame, Kaldros followed stiffly behind his uncle as they walked to the other edge of the tier. Gone was his usual motive elegance, steps as rigid and taut as his mind.

Behind them, Atqiya continued his lesson as though there had been no interruption. Kaldros yearned to return to his place amongst the students and open his mind once more, violently cursing his stupid, stupid, _stupid _damned compulsions that had ruined this opportunity.

Though none of the Gifted acknowledged their passing, still utterly fixated upon the Skywise in their midst, Kaldros couldn't help the niggling sensation that all were judging him for this failure. News of it would spread amongst them, of course, confirming prejudices that the boy should never have been admitted to their ranks.

Worse still was when that knowledge reached the few senior classes and then …

_Meja … I'm so sorry. I've let you down._

His uncle was silent, leading them at a punishing pace towards the descent to the lower sanctuary, although the teen didn't need his spiritual awareness to perceive the fury radiating from the man.

Logically, Kiba had only aided him because of their relation – as any humiliation Kaldros incurred would reflect badly upon their bloodline. Not due to any dregs of love for his nephew he had been somehow able to unearth.

Kaldros willed the tears brimming at the edges of his eyes not to free themselves yet. _Please. I can't deal with any more shame. Please don't cry._

They halted at the same step Meja had consoled him upon many long hours ago, and Kaldros gulped as his uncle span to face him.

Kiba fixed him in an imposing glare, blue eyes the icy mirror of his younger sister's seething with barely repressed disappointment that bled nicely into the undercurrent of uncaring contempt always running below his words whenever he spoke to Kaldros.

"Go prepare yourself for tonight's training. We will speak of this later," he stated coldly, stance as uninviting and hostile as it perpetually was now enhanced by a very tangible rationale for that loathing.

With that, Kiba departed, striding back to the upper temple and leaving his nephew alone in the cold.


End file.
